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POEMS 



Dear to the Heart 



BY 



MRS. G. L. PITT 




CLARKSVILLE, TENN.: 

W. P. TITUS, PRINTER AND BINDER 

1909 






♦ 


Copyrighted, 1909 

BY 

SAMMIE WALL PITT 


« 



f^eceived from 
"opyrfght Office. 




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^ PREFACE 



"Sufficient is the day for the evil thereof" is a Scrip- 
tural quotation, — which few of us live up to. The bravest 
of us are constantly trying to lift the veil and pass in to 
the unknown. 

I have one little girl, — Pattie, — the pride, the joy, 
the music of my life, and so often have I found myself 
wondering: "Should my child be deprived of a Mother's 
care and support — what then? My better judgment has 
ever told me: "By your own eiTorts, try to do something 
for her that will bring its returns. 

Thus this book, in which you will sometimes find me 
sitting beneath the clear, blue skies of dear old Kentucky, 
reveling in memories delicious and sweet; again you will 
find me listlessly strolling along the rvigged banks of Ten- 
nessee's Cumberland, in closest touch with God and 
Nature. 

Sometimes you will find me hand in hand with the 
friends of long ago; again you will find me basking in the 
happiness of present ti3s and friendships. Be it the one 
or be it the other, — in my heart of hearts, homage alike 
do I pay to both, — Wallonia, Kentucky, the home of my 



girlhood, and to Clarksville. Tennessee, the home of my 
married Hfe. 

I would have my baby feel the same reverence for 
each place, and for that reason I have penned the thoughts 
that were forever winding in and out among the rocks 
and rills, the meadows and brooks of yesterday and 
today. 

In this little book of poems, which I lovingly dedicate 
to my little girl, Pattie, I, with a Mother's pride and 
fondness, contribute the poems written for, and recited 
by her on different occasions, feeling and wishing that her 
little efforts be added to mine. 

Hoping some little pleasure may be gotten from these 
pages. I am, Respectfully, 

SAMMIE WALL PITT 



CONTENTS 



PAGE 

A Tribute to Clarksville 9 

Ye Tennessee Hills 11 

Hour of Night 12 

Thoughts Suggested by a Visit to Greenwood 13 

A Vision 14 

Two Little Birdies 16 

A Christian's Life 17 

Why Should We Be Sad? 18 

The Sewing Circle 19 

Historical Dollar 20 

Frosted Flowers 22 

The Cumberland 23 

The River Road 24 

River's Brink 25 

Rest 27 

The Fall of the Peach Bloom 29 

The Leaden Day 30 

Our Star 31 

All Hail to the Memory of the Dead 31 



6 



An Autumn Day 34 

Little Lewis — In Memoriam 35 

My Sister 30 

To Susanne 37 

To Margie 39 

My Mother 41 

The Old Red Rose 42 

To 43 

Helen of Troy 44 

The Efficacy of Prayer 46 

Nineteenth Anniversary of a Friend ,. 49 

The Cottage 51 

Ever of Thee 52 

My Baby 54 

My Little Girl and 1 55 

Wallonia 57 

The Old Church on the Green 59 

A Di-eam 61 

An Autumn Leaf 64 

Thoughts Suggested by An Autumn Leaf 66 

Shades of Evening 67 

Nature 69 

Makes Sad 71 

Alone 71 

The Good Old Times 72 

Ingratitude 73 

Pocahontas 74 



Hush, 'Tis the Hour of Twilight 78 

To the Daughters of the Confederacy of Clarksville, 

Tennessee 79 

Spring 81 

Back to the Home of My Childhood 82 

Play of the Shadows 84 

Peace 85 

The Old Wallonia School House 86 

Just a Little White Rosebud 88 

Clarksville Militia 89 

Play of the Moonbeams in An Old Church 90 

Dainty Maidens 92 

Tribute to Forbes' Bivouac 94 

Clarksville Band 95 

My Father 97 

Tribute to Clarksville Bar of Long Ago 99 

Tribute to Clarksville Bar of To-Day 100 

The Christian Church 101 

When We Played Around Aunt Mandy's Door 103 

The New Christian Church 108 



RECITATIONS BY LITTLE PATTIE PITT 



How a Little Girl Made Money 110 

Historical Dollar — One Year Hence 112 

Does It Ruin or Does It Pay? 115 

Farewell to Brother Cave 117 

To the King's Daughters 119 

Childrens' Day Recitation 121 

The Civic Band 122 

Easter Song 125 



POEMS 

DEAR TO THE HEART 



"^ (tribute to (TlarKsviUe 



Was there ever a town in all the world, 
With people so great and grand, 

As we find in our seven hilled city, 

Dear Clarksville, on Cumberland's strand? 

Was there ever a town in all the world. 
With churches and steeples so high. 

With their notes of welcome and happy song, 
For the stranger and passer by? 

Was there ever a town in all the world, 
With skies of such heavenly blue, 

And waters so limpid and sparkling. 

As we have in our Clarksville view? 

Was there ever a town in all the world, 
With moon of such silvery sheen, 

And llowers so fragrant and beautiful. 
As here on our Gretna Green? 



10 



Was there ever a town in all the world, 
With women so sweet and fair, 

In charm of manner and grace of mind, 
And virtues that are rich and rare? 

Was there ever a town in aU the world. 

With landscape so broad and wide. 
In wealth of hills, trees, rocks and rills. 

Green meadows and waters beside? 

Long may the skies so blue, 

And flowers that bloom so gay. 

Lend charm to this our Clarksville home, 
For many and many a day. 

Long may the waters roll. 

And sparkle at Clarksville's feet. 
Long may we live and love, 

In this, our home so sweet. 



It 



Ve Z3enne55ee 'SfllU 



Oh! ye hills, ye hills, ye Tennessee hills. 
With your verdure of darkest green, 

And your halo of misty, heavenly blue,— 
A grander sight ne'er seen. 

Oh! ye hills, ye hills, ye Tennessee hills, 
With your trees so grand and tall, 

Youi 1-ocks so rugged and moss grown, 
Oh! dear, how I love you all. 

Oh! ye hills, ye hills, ye Tennessee hills. 
With your slope of terraced green. 
And your halo of misty, heavenly blue. 
Which rises with mystical sheen. 



wide. 



Oh! ye hills, ye hills, ye heavenly hills, 
With your shadows so deep and wi 

How I long for you, and sigh for you. 
And adore you with fondest pride. 

Oh! ye hills, ye hills, ye Tennessee hills^ 
Nature's home for the sweet and fair. 

The birds and flowers and the humming bee, 
And all things that are rich and rare. 

Oh! ye hills, ye hills, ye Tennessee hills, 
Your charms are rich and rare 

In nature's store of gorgeous things, 
And all things sweet and fair. 



12 
Ifour of tJtlsbt 



When the shades of night have fallen, 
And the world is hushed in sleep, 

'Tis then I love to sit and dream, 
Far into the midnight deep : 

Of things that were to me so sweet, — 
Of things that made my very life,- — 

And yet I live without them all, 

Except the dreams that come at night. 

'Tis then I gently lift the veil. 

From that mysterious, faraway shore. 
And gaze upon the radiant formes 

Of my loved ones, on earth, no more. 

'Tis then I put my arms around 

Those forms so sweet and dear to me. 

And whisper words so soft and tender, 
To those loved ones so dear to see. 

Oh! hour of night so sweet, so tender. 

So full of power is your spell, 
That love dares enter even Heaven, 

In quest of loved ones who there dwell. 

Oh! hour of night so sweet, so tender, 

So full of beautiful, hallowed dreams,' 

That spirits come and hover about you. 

Sweet hour of night, such hallowed scenes. 



13 



Oh! hour of night, thrice sacred, tender, 

How could we brook the long, dull day, 

Save for the dreams so sweet and tender, 
That come at night and with us stay. 



X3l)ob3l)t5 Suggested ^^ a Visit to (Greenwood 



I alighted from the down-town car, 
I passed through the iron gate, 

I leisurely strolled along the walk, 
Which led to the dead in state. 

The grass was green with the breath of spring. 

All nature was budding fast; 
And like the birds, — to e\ery grave 

Paid I homage as I passed. 

Not with a sigh of bitter anguish, 

Not with a thrill of intense pain, — 

Instead, a heart thrub of exultation. 
For the blessings therein gained. 

Away from the world sif sorrow, 

With its trials and hardships rife ; 

Away from all heart emotions, 

Away from the soul's bitter strife. 

At home with the Father in Heaven, 
At home with the Saints on High; 

Oh! heart of heart, how sacrilegious, 
To visit those graves ^^ith a sigh. 



11 



Oh! weak and frail mortals, 

With your heartaches and sighs of pain 
Know ye not in your heart of hearts, 

Your loss is but their gain? 

Look above the grass-green mounds. 

Cast your eyes to heights on high, — 

There are your loved ones, — every one, — 
Just beyond that sun-kissed sky. 



Zh Vision 



The moon rose high in her circuit of light, 
The stars were ablaze in their glory, 

The world looked weird in her sheer night-robe. 
And the river looked shadowy and gory. 

The lights flashed, v/ith a million eyes, 
From the city across in its beauty. 

The steeples climbed high to reach the sky, 
And the chimes took up their sweet duty. 

I saw the gates of Heaven open wide, 
Heard a burst of music so grand; 

I saw the Father sit on His Throne, 

And white-robed angels about Him stand. 

I saw the streets all paved with gold. 
Studded with jewels. Oh! so rare; 

I saw the Father there, face to face, 

In His beautiful Heavenly Home — up there 







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15 



I saw the angels open their Hps 

In songs so sweet and grand; 
Heard Heaven resound with music subUme, 

On that beautiful, golden strand. 

I saw them move about in space, 

With a poetry and grace of motion; 

I saw the loved and lost of earth, 

Each sharing his Heavenly portion. 

At the Father's feet, at the Father's side, 
In that land beautiful, that land wide; 

Songs on their li|)S, harps in their hands. 

In that beautiful, thrice beautiful, heavenly land 

At the Father's feet, at the Father's side, 

In Heavenly commxunion, they sweetly abide 

With washed white sins, and souls free from care. 
In that beautiful home, our loved ones there. 



16 



"Gwo nClttU t&lrdles 



Two little birdies sat on a tree, 

And twittered and talked so excitedly, 

At what they considered an awful shame, — 

That drenching, unceasing, downpour of rain. 

They nodded and bobbed and jumped about, 

As if with all the wide world at out; 

They stood on one foot, then on the other, 

They kissed, and put their little brown heads together. 

They would flutter their wings and make a dash, 
As if with the face of the world to clash ; 
They would reconnoiter and come right back, 
And take their seats in the self-same track. 

They scornfully tossed their rebellious heads, 

At the crumbs of bread so bountifully fed. 

By a loving hand, on quiet bent, 

So they fluttered their wings, and away they went, 

'Twas a lesson to me for many a day, — ■ 
And left me to moralize this way: 
Thus we go on, all through life — 
Something wrong, something rife. 

Always growling and riling at fate, — 
Something too early, something too late, — 
Instead of noting the blessings that lie 
Along life's path as we go by. 



17 



^ Christians TLlfe 



I stood on the bridge at eve, 

Just as the sun went down; 
The long-slanting beams shed a radiance 

O'er all the world around. 

Hilltops and trees, rocks and rills. 
Were dyed with a crimson hue; 

Meadows and brooks, rivulets and nooks, 
All wore the same garb too. 

The river ran like a stream of blood 

Through cliffs and meadows once green ; 

The hillslope of town was a blaze of glow, 
A grander sight ne'er seen. 

Thus it is with a Christian's life, — 

When his work here on earth is done ; — 

The good he has done lives after him, 
Like the rays of the setting sun. 



18 



Wh^ Shomb W^ :^z Sab"} 



Why should the heart of the world be sad, 
When there is in life so much to enjoy,— 

The floating clouds, the azure heavens, 
And friends galore, without alloy. 

Why should the heart of the world be sad, 
When there is in life so much to enjoy,— 

The rippling waters, the meadows green, 
And friends galore, without alloy. 

Why should the heart of the world be sad, 
When there is in life so much to enjoy,— 

The whispering winds, the scent of the roses, 
And friends galore, without alloy. 

Why should the heart of the world be sad. 
When there is in life so much to enjoy,— 

His handiwork, — His Grace eternal, 
His bountiful love, forever more. 



19 
Ol)^ Sewing (Tlrclfc 



The Sewing Circle is a wonderful thing, 
Completely capturing everything on the wing; 
With her industrial habits on money making bent, — 
Realizing dollars for one dollar spent. 

Bazaars and suppers are light weights in her hands, 
And at the skirt factory ,she takes a proud stand; 
She "hustles" off the things, and takes the dollars in. 
Then her ten per cent, off, goes into the Circle's bin. 

Her candy pullings and teas are such wonderful things, 
That your money is soon spent and you are out of the swin; 
You go home despondent, your pockets so light; 
You wonder, "if all humanity is in the same plight." 

You rally your forces and macrh again, 

When the call to duty is sounded amain ; 

But the echo comes back from next' days show: — • 

"Gone, gone is m.y money, as before." 

Mrs. Coulter, our President, with gavel in hand. 
Keeps everything busy by a look of comm.and; — 
No time for laughter, nor song, nor play. 
Let stern duty rule, and business have sway. 

Invest a dollar, make it turn out two. 

Is the motto of the Circle, for Duty to do; 

Have in your mind, the object in view, 

A great house of worship — not old — but new. 



20 



With towers and minarets reaching high, 
With mottoes of welcome to the passerby, 
With songs of joy, and music, a treat, 
All worshipping alike in communion sweet. 



IKlstorlcttl iDolUr 



The history of my dollar, 

Partakes, as you will see, — 

Of the nature of my profession, — 
So an attentive ear I plea. 

I've rubbed, and pinched, and pounded, 
I've used this mighty arm. 

To do away with wrinkles, 

To restore the youthful charm. 

I've combed and brushed the tresses, 

I've used a little dye, 
To restore the color to the hair. 

Bring back the luster to the eye. 

I've covered the face with skinfood, 
I've applied the hot and cold, 

I've quieted the nervous system, 

Until the furrows were not so bold. 

I've turned my patient upside down, — 
I've wheeled her round and round,- 

To reach the Circulation's Core, — 
To make the blood abound. 



21 



Massage is my profession, 

As every one doth know, — 
So if you want many of my dollars. 

You must patronize my store. 

Churches are built with dollars, 

Green grassy lots the same sweet way; — 
Now, how in the world can I help. 

If you never come my way. 

Some of our fold sell shoes. 

Others, sell lumber and pine. 
If you never noticed their ads. 

Wouldn't they have caused to whine? 

You must let me make you beautiful; 

Your gray hairs must be dyed; 
Your finger nails must be manicured. 

All the arts of massage be tried. 

You must buy from me some skin-fi.'od. 
You must buy from me some paint ; 

You must let me get you up, — 

Handsome, comely, up-to-date. 

You must try a bottle of hair tonic,— 

My soap-paste you will call superfine; 

And the mountain of snow you will see overhead, 
Will be a revelation to your mind. 

For dollars I do the faces, — 

For dollars I do the hands; 
For dollars I do everything in the world, 

For the fair sex of the land. 



22 



The ugly are made most beautiful- 
The hideous are made most fair, 

If you don't believe my say, 

Just give me one good dare. 

And I'll make you a Cleopatra, 
Or a beautiful Helen of Troy; 

And the Ponce de Leon Fountain 
Will forever be your joy. 



J^rosl&b blowers 



The flowers are stiff and cold, 
Petals white with frosted dew, — 
Yet, I love them all, each, every one, 
Oh! I love them so, — don't you? 

Their fragrance has gone with the chilly blast. 
Which came from the far Northern climes, 
Their heads are blackened and drooping low, — 
But, I love them all, for the sake of old times. 

They breathe of a time when all was sweet. 
When life knew nothing of care, — ■ 
When the rose was thornless, the lily white, — 
And the breath of sweet love everywhere. 

When the sun shone bright, and the waters v/ere gay, 
When the birds made merry, all the summer's day, 
When the winds whispered softly, and the skies were so blue. 
Oh! the white frosted flowers, how I love them, don't 5^ou? 




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23 
"S^e (rumberlaii6 



Who hath not viewed the Cumberland, 

As she slowly winds along 
Through rugged cliffs and meadows green, 

Past the seven-hilled city of song. 

Who hath not viewed the landscape 
Stretching out, broad and long, 

Stopped in her sweep b}^ a kiss from the sky, 
And by the Cumberland rolling on. 

Who hath not stood on the Iron Bridge, 
And viewed the landscape o'er, 

Hath missed sights more beautiful 

Than the great world holds in store. 

To the North, the town of seven hills, 

With her churches and steeples high ; 

To the South a landscape of living green; 
Below, the Cumberland rolling by. 

Below, — the Cumberland, broad and long, 
Famous in history, — famous in song. — 

Carving her way to meet the sea 

Through the soil of dear old Tennessee. 

Ever rolling on her downward way. 
Ever sparkling in her merry glee. 

Ever beautiful and ever will be, 

This stately old stream of Tennessee 



24 



Did you ever drive along the River Road, 

In the Autumn period of the year, 
When the grapes hung purple, and the leaves red. 

And the meadows bedimmed by a tear? 

Then you've noted the squirrels chase one another 
Up the hickory-nut and walnut tree, 

In quest of food, for winter storage. 

To defy the. cold snows that are to be. 

You've seen them jump from limb to limb. 

And tumble over one another. 
And stand on their hind feet and peep at you 

From their hiding of rich Autumn co^'er. 

You've seen the red birds fly in and out 

Through the branches and boughs of the trees, 

Their brilliant coats vieing in color I ween. 

With the bright hued itnts of the forest leaves. 

You've seen the partridge scurry along, 

A victim of fright most intense, 
You've seen them play a game of hide and seek 

Through the branches and corners of the fence. 

You've seen the blue -ky, above, around, 

Kissing the hilltops and meadows there,- — 

You've seen the billows of fleecy clouds, 
Tossed about in the crisp Autumn air. 



25 



You've seen the face of the river, 

Sparkling in the sunlight's glare, 

You've heard the autumn winds whisper. 

And felt the fall of the forest leaves there. 

Then you've seen dear old Autumn 

In her happiest, truest vein. 
Gold and red and purple blossoms, 

All to die — but to live again. 



Elver's ^rlnK 



Have you ever sat at the River's Brink, 

At the close of a Summer's day, 
And watched the stars come out one by one. 

And mirror in the waters gay? 

Have you watched the moon in her stately course. 
As she slowly climbs the tinted sky, 

Descend the other side with funeral tread, 
Then close her eye, to sleep, — to die? 

Have you heard the whippoorwill's mournful call 
To his mate, just across the shore, 

And the echo come back from the distant hills. 
In accents, — plaintive, subdued and low? 

Have you heard the tinkle of the cow's bell, 
As she grazes across on the lea, — 

Have you seen the myriad of fire-flies, 
Vie with the stars in their glee? 



26 

Have you felt the whir of the long winged bat, 

As they through the shadows flit, — 
Heard the croak of the frog, and the cricket's chirp, 

While in the evening's light you sit? 

Have you seen the shadows come and go 

Over the shell-strewn, graveled shore, — 

Have you felt the darkness round you thicken, 
As the soft moist winds about you blow? 

Have you seen the crystal waters, 

With their mystical moonlit gleam, 
Have you seen the "long black shadows. 

Chase each other down the stream?" 

Oh! for a rest pure and delightful, 

Oh! for a heart attuned to joy, 
Seek it at the river's brink, — 

There is Nature without alloy. 



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27 



I've sat at the River's Brink, 

At the close of a Summer's day, 

Alone with Nature, — alone with God, 
The restless world far away. 

The stars came out, one by one. 

And mirrored themselves in the deep, 

The moon rose high with dignity her own. 
And the world "seemed fast asleep." 

The whippoorwill called to his lonely mate, 

Across on the opposite shore. 
The echo came back from the distant hills, 

Subdued, plaintive, and low. 

The mock-bird opened her pent-up heart, 
Burst forth with a song so gay; 

The bobolink called to his bride, — 
And the world seemed far away. 

The frogs croaked, and the crickets chirruped, 
And the owl hooted his life away; 

The river rolled on with dignity, her own. 
And the moon ever held high sway. 

Rest, Rest, sweet, delightful, — 
Find it at the river's brink, — 

There the heart is free from worries. 
There the brain has time to think. 



28 



There the soul drinks in the beauties, 
Made by God's own hand Divine, 

There your being throbs with rapture. 
Leaving earthly thoughts behind. 

There you see your Father, Maker, 

In every movement of the trees, — 

In the sparkling, crystal waters, 
Rolling on to meet the seas. 

In the whistle of the birds, 

In the falling of a leaf. 
In the meadows brown or green, 

In the green or ripened sheaf. 

In the silence of the woodland, 

Near the water's crystal brink, 

With all nature for communion, 
There is time for you to think. 

In the silence of the woodland. 

On Mother Earth's sodded breast, 

With the waters close about yovi. 

There is rest, sweet, hallowed rest. 
^ 



29 



I31)e ^ttU of tl)c TJettcl) ^loom 



The fall of the peach bloom in early Spring 
Is more beautiful to me, don't you know? 

Than the fall of the snowflake in Winter time, 
With its touch of the cold winds' blow. 

In color, the blush of the maiden, 
In fragrance the odor of Spring, 

In beatify, a thing so exquisite, 
In its touch, no biting sting. 

It combes from the warmth of Springtime, 
And caresses of the moist winds' blow; 

Brought into life by the sunshine, 
That which makes all life aglow. 

It lasts but for a brief season, 

Making glad and happy its day; 

It falls to the ground like the snowflake, 
But leaves a harvest, in its stay. 



30 



'G^e 'Hzabtrt "2)aY 



The clouds hung dull and leaden, 

The air was moist and cold, 
The snowflakes fell in feathery softness, 

A beautiful sight untold. 

The coils of smoke wreathed high and higher, 
Into the darkest, then fleeciest of cloud, — 

They would soar aloft, then dissolvee. 

Until the heavens were one gray shroud. 

The river had ceased to shimmer — 

(The sun having hidden from sight), 
She looked quiet, weird, and mystical. 

In the world's dim, fanciful light. 

The outline of trees along her bank 

Wore the color of somber night ; 
Their branches would dip and kiss the waters, 

And scatter their snowflakes in the dim, grey light. 

My life v.'as cold, and dark, and leaden. 

And the alkiring thought took its hold on me, 

Oh! how sweet to kiss the v/aters. 

Then drift on to the dark, blue sea. 

On and on, to the boundless ocean, — 

With its surging, seething roar; 
On and on, — asleep on its bosom, 

Rocked by the billows forevermore. 




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31 
Our Star 



The one we love may from us go, 

The spirit may take its flight 
To realms above, where all is love, 

To a home of pure delight. 

We who are left, go valiantly on. 
Lost to interest, all in sight, — 

Our beacon, — a star, — in the Great Beyond, — 
Ever guiding by its sweet, soft light. 



;\li Ifail Oo tb^ "Mnv.iot^ of tb* M>Qab 



All I hail to the memory of the dead. 

The brave, "the illustrious Gray;" — 

Who fought and fell 'mid sliwt and shell, 
For their country many a day. 

At the first rumbling sound of war, 

The first notes of the bugle's blast. 

Every man w^as up, bayonet in hand, 
To do battle to the last. 

For a "Cause" they loved best on earth; — 
(Their homes, their rights, their estates), 

Was attacked by an enemy the "Men in Blue,' 
Who hailed from the far Northern States. 



•A -7 



Our boys in Gray marched through valleys of snow, 
They rode through the sleet and the rain, 

Sometimes half clad, and with rations scarce, 
But never a word of complain. 

They proudh^ managed the cannon and ball. 

The aim of their rifle was true. 
They fought with a courage unheard of in men, 

But their number were few, very few. 

To the host of men in the enemy's ranks 

Who came pouring across the line, 
Armed to the teeth, with weapons of war. 

To butcher our men like swine. 

But our boys fought to the finish. 

And heroes b}^ thousans fell, — ■ 
Each washed in the blood of his valor. 

And the So'ath gave the funera.1 knell. 

They sat by their camp-fires that night, 

And the wind in plaintiveness sailed by, 

Carrying upon the wave of its bosom. 

The anguish of the soldier boy's sigh; 

To the home of the wife so fair; 

To the Mother, old and gray; 
To the fireside wide, with warmth and glow; 

To the babes asleep, or at play; 

To the maiden waiting afar, 

Her soldier boy to greet, — 
Bringing news of glorious war, 

News of victory, — not defeat. 



33 



But now in benediction, 

Let's bow our heads in prayer 

For the Confederate Veterans here today, 
For the Boys in Gray — Up There. 

Let's cover their graves with roses, 
Let's sing their deeds in song, 

Let's recount their acts of valor, 
Through all Eternity long. 

Let's bind the tie more closely 

Around those living still, 
And when each receives his summons, 

Say: — "Not mine, oh! Lord,— Thy Will. 

"And when that Final Day shall come, 
And Heaven shall claim her own," 

May we all, — the Blue and the Gray, 
Kneel at the Great White Throne. 

And with visions broadened. 

And the mists cleared away. 
May we all be pleased to answer, 

It was best, just this way. 



r>4 



^n 'ZA.utumit j!0a^ 



The trees were dressed in russet red, 
Meadows wore a garb of brown, 

The mellow light of the Autumn sun, 
Shed its beauty, the world around. 

The river sparkled with merry glee. 

As she glided along to meet the sea, 

Her waters would gently kiss the shore, 
Then smoothly glide on, as before. 

The sky was as blue as the deep, deep sea, 
Enhanced in its beautiful light. 

By the billowy clouds of floating grace. 
Which soared aloft, out of sight. 

The wind blew with a crisp, brisk blow, 
Carrying upon its restless breast, 

Millions of leaves, yellow and sear. 
Stolen from the trees' high crest. 

The children shouted and the kites flew. 

The old and young were alike happy, too — 

The sun shone bright, and the waters were gay, 
All, all. were happy, on this Autumn Day. 




u 



35 



TLlttU ^ewls— Uii ^^morlam 



Just budding into womanhood, 
A maiden of near sixteen, 

In love with life and its sweets, 
A lovelier child ne'er seen. 

Eyes of deepest, darkest brown, 
Complexion an olive hue, 

Cheeks like the tint of the peachbloom. 
And heart like an Angel's, — true. 

Hers a smile to meet the sun. 

The winds, the snow, the rain, 

Hers a life of thought for others, 
Not given to "woes complain." 

Full of Hfe and all its joys, 
And full of duties sweet; 

It seemed hard to give her up, 

And home's vacancies to meet. 

But the Angels called softly 

From across the border line : — 

"Come, we need you, oh, so sadly, 
In our heavenly beautiful clime." 

And they took her. Little Lewis, 

To that beautiful heavenly home ; 

Leaving us to sadly miss her, 
And our lives to be so lone. 



36 
yCl^ Sister 



Was there ever a word in all the world, 

With cadence so sweet and dear, 
Or one little word, with meaning so great. 

As the word we every day hear? 

Fall from the lips of some fortunate one, 

Or unfortunate one, it may be; 
But be it one, or be it the other, 

'Tis ever a word so sweet to me. 

A word of music, a word of rhyme, 
Beautiful to me, in every clime; 
Filling the heart with emotions so deep. 
And lulling the soul, with thoughts so sweet. 

I had a sister, in the long ago. 

Beautiful, and pure as the driven snow; 

But the Angels called softly to her one day, 

And she listened, and joined them, in the faraway. 

But ever and ever as the days go by, 
I see her smiles through the sunlit sky; 
And I hear her voice in the winds so low, — 
Softly calling, as in the days ago. 

And I hear her laughter in the waters, gay, 
And I feel her presence in the winds that play. 
And I see her tears in the drops of rain, 
And I hear her voice in the winds' refrain. 



37 



And I see her standing at the pearly gate, 
With an everwatchful, anxious wait, 
Scanning the faces that come and go, 
For the links of earth, — left years ago. 

"Ah! well for us all some sweet hope lies, 
Deeply hidden from human eyes;" 
For it may not be years or days so long. 
Before other links may make more strong, 

The chain that reaches from earth to sky. 
Binding more strongly, as the years go by. 
Its links of loved ones from Earth's lowstranvl 
Heedin": the wooin^s of Heaven's Own Band. 



Oo Susanuc 



Eyes of deepest, darkest night, 

Beautiful as a Creole, true, 
Lips as red as the reddest rose, 

And cheeks the same bright hue. 

Form, an exquisite, Ventis mould, 

Which the Goddess herself would view 

With a pang of the "green-eyed monster,"— 
For one so beautiful as Sue. 

But, best of all, a heart as big 

As the bounding deep, blue sea; — • 

With its wealth of love for every one, 
And its bountiful share for me. 



38 



Dear Susanne! my thoughts do play. 
Oft-times truant to duty's own; 

And soar aloft and search for thee, 

In thy beautiful, coast-bound home. 

There finding thee, they are loth to leave 

Thy fair enchanted bower; 
And would gladly stay and share with the? 

The pleasures of the hour. 

But, duty calls, and again they soar. 
To answer home's sweet call; 

But feeling better for their flight, — 
And having seen you all. 

And may your life ever be 

As beautiful as your face, so fair; 
And may you find in all your walks. 

Naught but flowers, — sweet and rare. 

And may the sun ever shine 

As brightly on your life, 
As in my flights I've seen it shine. 

On your new role of — wife. 




i 3- 



;>9 



Soft golden ringlets adorn her head, — 

Long sweeping lashes, blue eyes wed, — • 

The lily, in its whiteness, not fairer than she. — 

This dear, sweet daughter of Old Kentucky. 

She hails from a State, where women and wine. 
Sparkle and intoxicate in every clime; 
Where men are courageous, brave, and true, — 
And the women, in ail virtues, excel, too. 

Where the grass grows green, and the flowers are gay, 
Where the birds m.ake merry, all the Summer's day; 
Where the sun shines warm,. and the sky is so blue, 
Oh! Land of Kentucky! how good and trvie. 

Dear Margie! to thee my thoughts will stray, — 
Often, so often, through all the long day, 
And I almost envy thy fair retreat, 
The lap of Kentucky, — thy home, so sweet. 

For I love the clouds that sweep the sky, 
The silver moon that soars on high ; 
The twinkling stars that sparkle so gay — - 
In thy home of Kentucky — so far away. 

The long stretch of meadow, so green and neat, — 
Thy home so stately, happy and sweet; 
The line of cedars, so green and tall. 
Oh! dear to my heart, — I love them all.' 



40 



The round, big pond, that shimmers and gleams, 
In the sun's broad light, or the moon's cold sheens: 
The water lillies round, with their cups so white, 
Peeping at you queerly, in the moon's weird light. 

The little picaninnies that surround its shore, 
Angling for fish, in their sports galore; 
The cows, and the pigs, and the horses that stay, 
In thy dear Kentucky home, — so far away. 

The little picaninnies that run and play, — 
Like the birds, making merry all the Summer's day, 
With their shouts of laughter and song and glee, — 
Oh! home of thy maidenhood, — how dear to me. 



41 



ytt^ Mtotber 



The sweetest face in all the world, 
Is the face of my Mother dear; 
Who sits with me through all the day, 
And at night my thoughts doth cheer. 

Ever patient, and gentle and kind. 
Ever to my great faults blind, 
Ever teaching by her Christian light, 
The way to good, the way to right. 

Blessed be the daughter, who can say: — 
"I have a Mother, with me to stay," 
Apart from the world of show and strife- 
At home with Mother, — my all, — my life. 

In close communion, sweet and dear, 
With my Mother always near, — 
'Tis a blessing of infinite love, 
From the Father in realms above. 



42 



X3l)e 016 :ae6 ^ose 



Pure as the soul of an infant, 

Fragrant as the breath of May, 
Brought into Ufe by the sunshine. 

And the kiss of the moist wind's play. 

Radiant as the cheek of the maiden. 
Moist with night's kisses of dew; — 

I love it for the sake of all memories, — 
'Tis the old red rose, — don't you? 

It stood within the garden. 

Just inside the gate — 
Where grew the flowers my Mother loved. 

In majesty and state. 

Its lips were kissed by the night's cool dew, 

Its cheeks by the sunbeams red, 
It flaunted its fragrance to the south winds. 

And scattered its petals o'er our head. 

It grew tall and great and strong, 

With a drooping poise of motion; 

I love it for its own true worth, 

And in my Mother's garden — its own sweet 
■Portion. 



43 



Oo 



Oft times in our merry glee, 
Our thoughts will soar, and search for thee, 
And find thee, in thy Southern clime, — 
At peace within thy flowered shrine. 

Culling roses about thy door, 
Or listening to the ocean's roar; 
Or sitting beneath the radiant sun — 
There they find thee, one by one. 

Sometimes kissed by the zephyr's mild, — 
There they find thee, as a child, 
With radiant cheeks and flowing tresses. 
And heart so happy — which heaven blesses. 

All unobserved, they watch and see, 
And hover around, most lovingly, 
Then quietly soar, and fly away, 
Leaving thee, in thy clime so gay. 



44 
3fden of X5roY 



Helen of Troy was so very fair, 

The poets sang her praises everywhere; 

They wrote odes to her beauty, sonnets to her hair, 

They proaounced her the fairest of the fair. 

Her hair was Hkened unto gold, 
Her throat outrivaled the swan. 
Her face the fairest, dearest, sweetest, 
The world had ever looked on. 

"Her feet so small they scarce could tread," 
Her hands, the mould of a maiden wellbred, 
Her form so lithe, willowy and gay — 
Oh! this oriental star — so far away. 

Men worspipped her beauty, knelt at her shrine, 
Sang songs of her loveliness over their wine ; 
They told stories of her wisdom and ready wit, — 
And of Helen, they never tired, — no, not a bit. 

She was even stolen and carried away, 

Into a far country many miles away. 

By a young Trojan Prince, so bonny and bright, — 

I really think Helen enjoyed the flight. 

For this terrible deed, Greece marshalled her clan, 
Proceeded to Troy and took a proud stand. 
She battered and hammered for many a day, 
But the walls stood firm, — the Trojans held sway. 



45 



After ten long years of struggle and strife, 
After ten long years from home, and wife, 
Ulysses, by some great strategy of war, 
Defeated the Trojans and captured the fair star. 

He took her in state to her own native land, 
A.nd the Trojans defeated, laid down the ban; 
For this brave deed, all the wide world o'er, 
Sings Ulysses' praises from shore to shore. 

And Helen of Troy will ever stand great, 
As a beautiful star in the far Orient, 
And the women of all ages will wish that they. 
Could be a Helen of Troy, just for a day. 

A woman of beauty, a woman divine, 
Worshipped by all and in every clime ; 
Praised in history, sung in song. 
The idol of Greece, and the poet's gong. 



46 
O^e HEfflcac^ of "JiraYer 



An angel of Heaven doth hover 
O'er a home not far away; 

We can feel the sweep of His wing, 
We can almost hear Him say: 

What a fair and fragile flower, 

What a delicate piece of clay. 

What a priceless little treasure, 
I shall take with Me this day. 

I shall fold her to My bosom, 

I shall pillow her head of gold, 

I shall hasten to my Master, 

And His anxious waiting fold. 

I shall lay My precious burden 
At the Master's loving feet; 

I shall hear the angels' Vv^hisper: — 
Oh! how sweet; oh! how sweet! 

I shall note the look of welcome 
On the Saviour's tender face; 

I shall see His arms outstretched. 
In one fond and long embrace. 

I shall see the host of angels. 
In one great, united band, 

Singing: — "Glory, Glory, Hallelujah! 
Washed in Calvary's lamb." 




■J 



47 



On the stillness of night is heard a sound, 
'Tis the voice of the mother, dear, 

Begging, pleading for the little life 
Of her child, she loves so dear. 



'Our Father, who art in Heaven, 
If it be Thy gracious will, 

Lift the cloud of hovering gloom. 
Let us yet be happy still. 

Take not from us our baby darling, 
Leave her yet a little while, 

Sever not the chain that binds us; 
Spare, oh! spare, our baby child. 

Let us hear her bird-like laughter, 
Let us hear her pattering feet — ■ 

Make not our home, once so happy. 
Dark, dreary, cold, bleak. 

Take not from us our joy, our pride. 

Our almost everything; 
For this one thing we humbly ask, 

Our Father, Maker, King!" 

The angel gazes aloft to Heaven, 

As in communion with the Saints, 

His face takes on a look of pity. 
As He slowly, solemnly thinks. 



48 



He quietly moves away in space, 

He soars to the "Great Unknown," 

He records the prayer of the mother's heart 
At the foot of the Great White Throne. 

The chain was not broken. 

The tie was not severed — 
Little Margaret, in health — 

Mother's prayer in Heaven. 



49 
^IntUent^ 'TXnnXvdrsar'g of a IFrianb 



(Recited by one of her children.) 



Just nineteen years ago today, 
There was witnessed from on high, 
The union of two happy hearts, 
Whom Cupid had not passed by. 

She was in her girlish sweetness, 
Pure and fair as the lily born; 

He in the flush of gallant manhood. 

Was proud of the treasure he had won. 

He swore to love and fondly cherish 
This beautiful flower at his side; 

And she, in innocent faith and trust, 
Placed her hand in his with pride; 

And promised to be a faithful wife, 
Good and kind and ever true; 

And whate're the future brought them — 
Never to her troth untrue. 

As she stood there in her sweetness. 
Robed in loveliest gown of blue ; — 

Methinks the Angels must have whispered :- 
"Was ever the violet of purer hue?" 



->o 



That lovely maiden was my Mother — 
Beautiful to me as a poet's dreams; 

That gallant lover was my Father — 
More than all the world, he seems. 

Four happy children 'round them cling, 
With love too strong to tell; 

And joyfully each and all of us, 
Ring out their wedding bell. 

For them their sweetest, brightest day, 
For them their nineteenth year; 

Since two happy hearts were made one. 
And the Angels called on to hear. 

Long may they live and love, 

As on their bridal day ; 
Long may vv'e live to ring the bells, — 

Just in this same sweet way. 



51 
Z5!)e (Tottage 



It stands on an eminence of green, 
Overlooking the river's flow; 

The distant hills and meadows green, 
In the valley down below. 

The vines clamber over the walls, 
The roses bloom about the door, 

The birds sing with joy their own, 

And the sun shines bright as before. 

A Mother sits within those walls, 
A childish voice is heard e'er more; 
Still, oh! still, there is something missing, 
'Tis the step that comes no more. 

'Tis the husband, father, sweetheart. 
Gone to a better, fairer land; 

Leaving wife and baby prostrate, — 
Stranded on life's shoals of sand. 

Taken early in the race. 

Before life's march had fair begun, — 
Cut down in the sweets of life, — 

All, too soon, the sands were run. 

Though the night has no star, 

Though the day is dark and drear, — 
There is comfort in the thought: 

They will meet again some where. 



52 



TEver of t3i)ee 



While I sit in the twihght dreaming, 

With my baby on my knee , 
Her little arms about my neck — 

Oh! Love, I dream of thee. 

While I sit at the river's brink, 
And watch the shadows play, 

And list to the mock-bird and whippoorwill- 
To thee, my thoughts will stray. 

Though I climb to the highest peak, 
And view earth's beauties o'er — 

Thy face I see in the clouds above, 
Thy shroud in the grave below. 

Though I stand by the ocean broad , 
And list to its surging roar, — 

Above the din, I hear thy voice, 
In accents sweet and low. 

Though I go into the gayest throng 

Of laughter, and mirth, and glee, — 

I sit in quiet, alone, apart, — 

My thoughts still ever of thee. 



Though the wild winds about me shriek, 

The rain come pouring down. 
The clouds burst, the lightnings flash, — ■ 

Still my thoughts of thee abound. 

Though I close my eyes to sleep, 

And my lips move in prayer; 
In my dreams thou art ever with me, 

Thou art with me e\'ery where. 

And when the sands of life have run. 

And the Angels have whispered: — "Come, 

Face to face, hand in hand. 

We'll meet in heaven, as one. 

And it will seem but just a day 

Since I last saw thy face — 
For heart and soul have never ceased 

To give thee all thy place. 



54 



Eyes of deepest, darkest brown, 
Curling lashes of softest down. 
Sweetest face of classic mould, 
Little heart with Love untold. 

Tiny teeth, so pearly white, 
Brightest smile of sweetest light; 
Rounded cheeks of dainty red, 
Little feet, too small to tread. 

Little head so full of sense; 
Strongest will, — so very intense; 
Dearest hands of dainty mould, 
Living token of Love untold. 

Sacred gift from above, — 
Make me worthy of thy love, — 
Let each impulse of thy heart 
Find in me a deep response. 

So thy baby years will be 
Fraught with all that is good for thee,— 
Far too soon thou wilt from me start. 
The great world, to take thy part. 

Like a birdling from its nest, 
Thou wilt leave thy Mother's breast, 
Too soon plumaged, — too soon gone, — 
Then my heart will be — forlorn. 



55 



yU^ TClttie Cirl anb 3 



Hand in hand we walk together, 

Through the crowded sunlit street; 

Hand in hand, we smile and bow 

To the many friends we chance to meet. 

Hand in hand, we sit by the river. 
And watch the wavelets play; 

Hand in hand, we gather the pebbles, 
And throw them all away. 

Hand in hand, we climb the hillside. 
And gather the wild flowers there ; 

Hand in hand, we rest in the shade. 

And weave them into garlands fair. 

Hand in hand, we pluck the roses, 

And fondle them as a child; 
Hand in hand, we scatter the petals, 

To the zephyrs, soft and mild. 

Hand in hand, we watch the Day King, 

As he slowly sinks to rest; 
Hand in hand, we bask in his radiance. 

Over hill, and vale, and crest. 



>6 



Hand in hand, we sit in the twilight, , 
And watch the shadows play; 

Hand in hand, we note the dewdrops. 
Kissed by the moon's soft ray. 

Hand in hand, we count the meteors. 

As they leap and flash and start ; 
Hand in hand, we catch the fireflies. 

As they through the darkness dart. 

Hand in hand, we kneel and pray, 
And offer our thanks above, — 

For another day of perfect peace. 
And faith, and trust, and love. 

And may it be, we humbly ask. 
That we can go through life; 

Hand in hand, side by side. 

Mother, — Daughter, — Life. 

And when the sands of life have run, 
And we have fallen asleep, — 

May we, hand in hand, side hy side, 
Awake at the Master's feet. 



^allonltt 



Wallonia! — dear to my heart, 

Full of girlhood's dreams divine, 

Wallonia! sacred to my life, 

As to the pilgrim, his shrine. 

Wallonia! free from every care, 

Full of music and joy sublime. 

Before the cloud-burst of duty came. 
Which swept us all in line. 

There the birds sang as gayly 

In the eve, as in the morn, — 

There all life was full of sweetness, 
There the rose devoid of thorn. 

There the waters rippled smoothly 
In their courses towards the sea; 

There the flowers bloomed as gayly 
On the brink, as on the lea. 

There the lilacs shed their sweetness 
On the dewey eve and morn ; 

There the roses blushed so crimson 

When the Great Day King looked on. 

There the sun shone so brightly 

Through the whispering maple leaves; 

There the partridge wooed his mate, 

Under the cover of the golden sheaves. 



58 

There the dear old honey-suckle, 
And the fragrant apple tree, 

Vied with each, and one another, 
In its sweetness for the bee. 

There the tall, red clover blossoms 

Lent their aid to earth's perfume, — 

There we breathed the sweet night jasmine. 
Under the light of the silver moon. 

There the grand old Balm of Gilead 
Reared his tall, majestic head; 

There we gathered the long red blossoms, 
To adorn our cheeks so red. 

There the winds Vv^hispered softly. 

All about us, everywhere, 
Every breath a whispered message 

From our sweethearts somewhere near. 

There the monobeams stole so quietly 
Over the diamond-crested grass, — 

There my thoughts go trooping backward 
To my girlhood's happy past. 

It is sweet to have our thoughts 

Go trooping on their way, 
Gathering up the sunbeams 

Scattered along life's way. 

Yes, gather and hold them tenderly, 

As something sweet to keep, 
They come like the rainbow of promise. 

When life seems all — a weep. 




Q rs. 



Q -^ 



r.9 



iD^t 016 (Li)urci) On tlje (Brecn 



It stands just on the corner, 

On a beautiful plot of green, 

Within an angle of two brick red lanes. 
Which merge into one I ween. 

Just before you reach the bridge, 

Which spans that dear old stream, 

The dividing line between Wallonia, 

And the old "Church on the Green." 

It stands just on the corner, 

The only Church in town. 
And around those dear old white walls, 

The sweetest thoughts abound. 

They hover around the chancel, 
They loiter about the door, 

They quietly walk down the aisles. 
Sit with friends of the long ago. 

They listen to the deepest discourse. 
So fraught with Biblical lore, 

They drink in deep, the sweet music. 

Sung by voices, now heard no more. 



60 



They bow in deep contrition. 

To earnest words of prayer, 
They hear the way pointed out 

To that beautiful home up there. 

They join in the sweetest music, 
Ever sung by voices dear. 

They hear the deep tones of the organ, 
Float out upon the evening clear. 

They hear the benediction, 
In words, firm and clear. 

They see the people moving out, 

For their homes, here and there. 

A feeling of peace and quiet 

Comes over life's tired scene. 

When memory goes sailing backward, 
To the Old Church on the Green. 



61 



^ J^ttam 



Well! I've been back to my old home, 
That beautiful village town, 

With one long street of gardened homes, 
And meadows, now sear and browm. 

I stood again in the doorway, 

Where I stood as a maiden fair — 

And oh! I thought my heart would break. 
For the loved ones missing there. 

But all those I had loved so fondly, 
More dearly than you can know. 

Were side by side, quietly sleeping 

'Neath a mantle of pure white snow. 

The sun shone just as bright. 

The birds sang just as gay; 
All nature was replete with joy. 

Just in her usual way. 

But my heart was almost breaking. 
With anguish akin to despair, 

For just one word of strength and hope. 
From those dear ones I had left there. 



r;2 



I knelt upon the cold, cold ground, 

I asked that I might stay 
With those I had loved best on earth, 

Forever and for aye. 

It would be so much better, 

Far sweeter than you can know. 
Those graves, so near for com.munion sweet, 

Than out in the world alone, j^ou know. 

There came a voice from somewhere near. 

So firm, yet gentle and mild, 
Which said: — "Arise, take up thy cross, 

Tliou art not alone my child." 

I wandered on, to the little White Church, 
Which stands like a sentinel of God, — 

I saw the people gathered there, 

But my thoughts were with those of the sod. 

My Grandfather sat in his accustomed place. 

His hair like the driven snow; 
His eyes flashed fire as the}'' used to do, 

In the days of long ago. 

I looked Avith pride on that lofty brow, 
So indicative of all that v/as just, — 

That face so noble, brave and true, — 
Speak to him — let me— I must. 

My Grandmother sat just across the aisle, — 
'Twas the custom then, you know. 

For the men to sit on one side the church, 
Their wives just across the row. 



63 



Her face was the face of the sainted, 

So sweet, placid, and calm; 
She looked: — "Weighed in the balance 

And found: — 'Washed in Calvary's Lamb. 

My sister was there with her dear, sweet face. 

So radiant, happy and gay; 
We sat, side by side, her hand in mine, 

We sang in the same old way. 

Her face to me, was the sweetest face. 
The kindest, the gentlest, the best;— 

God gave her a soul so good and pure, 
The Angels can tell you the rest. 

I saw all the friends of the long ago, 

Just as they used to throng 
On the First Lord's Day in every month. 

To hear preaching and good song. 

I was so overcome with bliss, 

To live this life again, 
"I noted not the minister had stopped, 

Until the choir arose to sing." 

I arose as from a confused dream. 

And a dream it was after all; 
But such a sweet, dear, sad dream. 

The sweetest dream of all. 

God gives us joys in His wise way. 

And lets us live again, 
In dreams with those we have loved and lost, 

Until we think they have been 



(;4 



Z^n Autumn TLcaf 



An Autumn leaf was handed me 
By my baby, sweet and fair, 

With the query on her childish lips: — 
Why thus, so brown and sear. 

Why not bright and green, — 

As in the early Spring? — 
Why this change to brown and red, 

In such a beautiful thing? 

My child, thou art the Spring-time leaf, 
With thy heart so free from care, — 

While I, thy mother, am the leaf, 

With its marks of brown and sear. 

Thou art the beautiful Spring-time leaf, 

With thy laughter of music and rhyme, 

While I, thy Mother, am the leaf, 
With the gold and red of time. 

Thou art the Spring-time leaf. 

With visions so sweet and dear, — 

While I, thy Mother, am the leaf, 

With naught but the brown and sear. 



65 



Thou art the Spring-time leaf, 
So young and full of life, — 

While I, thy Mother, am the leaf. 
With its marks of yellow strife, 

Thou art the Spring-time leaf, 

Bringing joy and breath of Spring, 

Wliile I, thy Mother, am the leaf. 
With naught of that to bring. 

Instead, a life fraught with care, 
Bedimmed by many a tear, 

"Wailing winds and falling leaves, 
And a life brown and sear." 

And when I gaze into your eyes, 
And feel your lips so warm, 

I shudder that some future day, 
I too, of you, be shorn. 

For W^hat has been, and is. 

Makes us cowards to the time 

When other winds and other leaves, 
May make our hearts to pine. 



66 



Ol)0U3l)ts 5us3e5te6 h'2 "^n 'Autumn Teaf 



The earth was covered with a carpet of gold, 

The trees with a mantle of red, 
Every breath of wind from the West's cool blow, 

Sent a shower of leaves o'erhead. 

The river ran with a wierd gleam., 

A greenish, yellowish light, 
Which rose and fell in mystical grace, 

As the sun kissed the earth goodnight. 

The heavens were alive with floating clouds, 

Other times enhancing her blue, 
But in Autumn's queer light of yellowish green. 

All wearing the same strange hue. 

All, all, reminded me of one I had loved. 
Who had folded his hands to rest ; 

Closed his eyes in prayerful sleep. 

To recline on earth's mother breast. 

The lingering illness, the fevered cheek, 
The hands, so emaciate, so dear. 

The resigned spirit, the affectionate look, — 
Oh! God, in mercy, hear: — 

If dying were else but living. 

Oh! how could we bear the pain 
Of gold and red and Autumn sunsets. 

If not in Heaven to live again. 




Oh 



< 'Si 



m 
>. 

S 



67 



S\)abt& of TEvciilng 



When the shades of eve have fallen, 
And the sun has said goodnight, 

On my hand, I love to rest my head. 
And watch his last sad light. 

Memory goes sailing backward 

To a time so far away. 
When I sat in the door of my old home. 

Just in the same, same way; 

And watched the sun go down, — 
Yes, slowly sink to rest. 
Leaving the v/orld in his goodnight, 
A beautiful, roseate crest. 

Hilltops and trees, meadows and brooks. 

And Heaven's canopy on high, 
Were lighted with a crimson torch. 

Which blazed from earth to sky. 

Then the light would grow faint and fainter, — 

Ever taking a silvery sheen. 
Then my heart would quiet grow, 

And my thoughts would shape this dream : 



68 



Health, and joy, and life immortal. 
Ever beautiful, verdant Spring, 

Roses pure and white and fragrant. 
Nothing in their touch to sting; 

Waters rippling, laughing, singing, 
Sunbeams playing, everywhere, 

Breezes moist, and speaking softly. 
To the foliage's willing ear. 

Skies so blue and stars so bright, 
From their heights on high ; 

Faces cheery, bright, and smiling, — 
Not a care, nor sigh; 

Meadows green, and smooth, and lovely. 
Not a leaf brown nor sear; 

Flowers bright and nodding gayly 
To the zephyrs everywhere ; 

Vines climbing, palms waving; 

Birds flying through the air; 
Children shouting, music sounding; — 

All was love, everywhere. 

What it was, and is, I know not, — 
Unless, a far glimpse of that time 

When all the earth of earth be gathered 
In that Home, — our Home Divine. 



69 



Mature 



To some, this world is full of woe, 
For some, 'tis all too long; 

But I'm honest, in my saying so, 

'Tis for me, one glad, sweet song. 

I could sit by the river for aye. 
And watch the wavelets play; 

Gather the shells, as a child would do, 
Then throw them all away. 

I could sit by the ocean broad. 
And list to its surging roar; 

And gaze at the foaming, billowy clouds. 
Through all time, — forevermore. 

I could wander in the forest wild, 
And revel in its silence deep. 

Begrudge the moments nature demands 
For my eyes to close in sleep. 

I could sit and watch the stars, 

Far into the silent night ; 
List to the mock-bird and whippoorwill, 

'Till my soul cried out with delight. 



70 



I could watch the early dawn, 

With its roseate touch of red, 

Revel in the call of the early bird, 

'Till my limbs were faint and dead. 

I could wander in the meadow broad, 
With its laughing, rollicking stream, 

There spend my life, culling the flowers. 
And the leaves, — so fresh and green. 

I could watch the lightning's flash. 
And list to the thunder's roar. 

Enjoy the wind-burst of terrific force. 
And the pelting rain's down-pour. 

I could climb the mountain's side^ 

With its trees and rocks so grand, — 

Stretch out my arms in rapturous joy, 
As viewing the promised land. 

I could stand on the highest peak. 
And view earth's beauties o'er, — 

And like the soldier, brave, of old. 
Sigh, for the want of more. 

There is no time for woe. 

In a world so full of bliss ; 
Arouse thyself ! shake off thy sloth ! 

Meet nature, with a kiss. 

And she will put her arm.s around, 
And fold thee to her breast, 

And teach thee lessons, little dreamed of, 
In thy heart, of great unrest. 




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71 
^ttttkes Sab 



It makes me sad as I go through life, 

When I go into homes so grand, 
And find such comfort, luxury, and ease. 

In fact, all that wealth can command; 
Yet, with all, such a spirit of discontent, 

Hearts so bowed down with care, — 
With things, that to me, seem nothing at all 

But "trifles, light as the air." 



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ne 



*Tis an awful thing to be left alone, 
With naught in this world to do, 

But an endless task of duty and toil. 
And no one, to care for you. 

'Tis an awful thing to be left alone. 
And hear the Winter's chilly blast, 

And to feel, as each come and go, 
Thus the hopes of life have past. 

'Tis an awful thing to be left alone. 

With naught on earth beside. 
But a mockery of hopes, — blackened and sear 

That stalks ever by your side. 

'Tis an awful thing to be left alone, 

When all your ties have fled, 
For 'tis then you realize the fact: — 

There is something worse than — dead. 



72 



'Dl)^ ^ood 016 "^imes 



They talk about the good old times, 
When men were brave and bold, 

When they took note of the widows. 
When the days were long and cold ; 

They would hurry to their homes. 
When the snows began to storm; 

And make all sorts of queries, 

To their being well and warm ; 

They would scrape the snow away. 

And fill all the bins. 
Then bring a turn or two of wood. 

To help the poor shut-ins; 

They would milk the kicking cow. 
Feed the horses in the stall; 

All this in those good old days, 
For the widows, one and all. 

But those days have past. 

Likewise those heroes grand; 

And the motto for the widows: — 
Is to do the best they can. 

Now and then you meet a man. 

Who 'pears to be most kind ; — 

But keep your eye right on to him, 
There is something else behind. 



73 



He is generally a rooster, 

A looking for a hen, 
With a cozy, air-tight hovel, 

He would like his days to spend: 

Where he can find a corner, 

To muffle up his head. 
And keep himself from freezing, 

'Till the Winter snows have fled. 



ingratitude 



'Tis an ingrate's heart, whose song and whose say. 

Is a whine of yesterday, a complaint of today; 

Whose only mission, seems to be, in life, 

Is in finding something wrong, or finding something rife; 

Dipping even farther, into the future's dark sea, 
And angling for skeletons, that may be 
Lurking beneath some beautiful wave, 
Or lying, in wait, in some ocean-bound grave. 

Instead of gazing on the sun-kissed strand. 
And gathering the treasures there at hand. 
Or casting their eye on the sky so high, 
With its eloquent appeal of the sweet by and by. 



74 



"pocaljontas 



There once did live a maiden fair, 
In the beautiful Wallonia clime, 

With heart as light as the floating breeze. 
And laughter like a rippling rhyme. 

Her presence was like a sunbeam, 
Where'er her feet did stray; 

Carrying naught but sweetest pleasure, 
To all within her v/ay. 

Her name v^as Pocahontas, 

For in her veins did flow, 
A current of the Indian Maid, 

By that same name, you know. 

And like the Maid of History, 

(The enchantress of olden time,) 

She charmed all within her sphere. 
By her grace of heart and mind. 

Her tresses were as black 

As the raven, which we see; 

And her smile just as lovely 
As the waters of the sea. 

Her laughter was as rippling 
As the waters of the brook ; 

And her movements as uncertain 
A- the Myths in Fairy books. 




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75 



She was likened to the sunbeams, 

Which all about us play ; 
But stretch your hand to grasp one — 

It immediately speeds away. 

Or like the shadows on the wall, 
Which hold you to your room ; 

But reach your hand to catch one, — 
Immediately all is gloom. 

Or like the Hghtning's flash, 

Which dazzles by its glare ; 

But turn your eyes to see again, — 
Lo! it has vanished — V/here? 

And Pocahontas had a lover. 
Brave and fond and true; 

Who worshipped at her shrine for long. 
And did his love prove true. 

Their courtship was most beautiful. 
Their marriage was sublime ; 

And they lived like Fairy lovers, 
In their sunkissed little shrine. 

But we must not make idols 

Of earthly things, they say: 

But must give our best devotion 
To the Father, in His way. 

So thus while all was sweet, 

And life knew naught of care ; 

The Angels grew jealous of this love, 
And called so softly there 



76 



They whispered something in her ear, 

While she was still asleep; 
And when the dawn broke roseate clear, 

The town was all aweep. 

For she had peacefully drifted out, 

Upon Sleep's beautiful, dreamlit wave. 

Into the Ocean of beautiful Death, — 
With ne'er a thought of the Grave. 

They buried her body 'neath the grasses green. 

With Heaven's canopy on high for a screen; 
They buried her deep in Mother Earth's sod, 

Close to Nature and near to God. 

And the husband, fond and devoted, 
Gazed into Earth's empty space, 

And saw naught in all the world. 
That could ever fill her place; 

In his heart of pure devotion, 

In his thoughts of her alone; 
And the future looked too dreary, 

For a heart so sadly shorn. 

He never rallied sufficient strength 

To meet life once again; 
But slowly sunk beneath the blow 

Of Heaven's own Mighty Hand. 

Then another dark grave was made 
Deep down in the cold, cold sod; 

The husband's soul had drifted out, 
Like the wife's, — to meet its God. 



77 



Side by side, their graves were made, 

In the day's bright sun and the eve's cool shade; 
And the same moonbeams that play on one, 

Dance on the other 'till the night is done. 

And the same joyous birds that sing all the day. 

And the same bright flowers that bloom so gay ; 

And the same dear friends of the long ago, — 
All, all, pay homage to those graves so low. 

And the same moist winds, that come with a sigh, 
And the same raindrops, that fall ever so shy; 

And the same snowfiakes with their feathery tread, 
All, all, pay tribute to the two, — now dead. 

So thus two young lives lived. 

Thus too, two young lives died; 
So much adored by one another, 

The world was naught beside. 

And Pocahontas and Clarence, — - 

Whose love was like a dream, 
A very poem within itself, — 

Have glided down the stream, 

Of Death's cold, silent River, — 

Away from the world's bright sun ; 
On and on their souls are drifting, 

On the still, cold waves, — as one. 

And when they reach the Haven 

Of God's Beautiful Heavenly Land, 
They will enter, as they lived in life: — 

Side by Side, and hand in hand. 



78 



3fusbt *Ols tbe Tfour of "SwlUgljt 



Hush! 'tis the hour of twilight, 
When shadows begin to play, 

Over the land and through the heart 
For memory doth with me stay. 

Hush! 'tis the hour of twilight. 
Sweetest hour of all the day, 

When the boisterous yell or wanton shout 
Are pain to the heart's sad lay. 

Hush! 'tis the hour of twilight. 

When the mind begins to stray. 

Away from the things present 

And reverts to that other day. 

When life was all so happy, 

The heart knov/ing naught of care; 
When the winds whispered softly 

And love was everywhere. 

When the flowers bloomed so gayly 
And the birds came at my call, 

When the waters rippled smoothly 
And love was all, ves, all 



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79 

When the odors were as subtle, 

As the breath of love's sweet kiss — 

Oh! hush, 'tis the hour of twilight 
Let's live again the bliss. 

Of those sv/eet golden moments. 
Of those past years so fleet — 

When Love was King and ruled my life 
With ruling all so sweet. 

Then hush! 'tis the hour of twilight 
When shadows begin to play. 

Over the heart and through the brain 
With thoughts of that other day. 



Z5o t\^& i)aug!)ters of t^e Con,fe6erac^ of ClarKs- 



Sweet Daughters of the South, 

With your deeds of purest white — 

There is waiting you many a jewel. 
In that land of sweet delight. 

There is a pearly gate on high 

And an Angel standing there ; 

Who is listening, watching, waiting 

For you, Daughters, sweet and fair. 



80 



With your deeds of purest white, 

With your hearts of cheer and love; 

Oh ! there is joy for you triumphant 
In that sweetest home above. 

There are streets paved with gold 
Aw^aiting your happy tread ; 

There are jeweled crowns for you 
For your memory to the dead. 

For you have not allowed 

Brave deeds to darkness grow; 

But have constantly kept alive 

Their memory with sweetest glow. 

Of song and prayer and flowers, 
Of music and poetry and love ; 

And for these so sweet and true 
There is waiting for you above 

A home not made with hands, 

A home not sullied with tears. 

Instead a mansion of great delight. 
No strife, no scars, no fears. 



81 



Peach blooms, cherry blooms and apple blossoms dear — 
Raindrops and sunshine on the meadows clear; ■ 
Moist winds, balmy breezes, kissing without fear, 
Blue skies, floating clouds, tell us Spring is here. 

Flying petals, sweet odors on the balmy air, 
Birds singing, children shouting, oh! just everywhere; 
Grasses green, buds swelling, (th! so very fast 
Everything, yes, everything, tells us Winter's past. 

Waters rippling, laughing, singing through the meadows 

green. 
Moonbeams playing, dewdrops sparkling in the night's 

queer sheen; 
Winds whispering, raindrops sparkling, all the livelong day, 
Everything, yes, everything, says: "Spring's come to stay." 



82 
^acK to t\^t Iriomz of Mlv (T^ll^b'^od 



Back to the home of my childhood, 

The home of long ago, 
Oh! back to the friends so loyal 

On childhood's distant shore. 

Back to the birds and the wild-woods. 
Back to the rippling spring, 

Back to the meadows of clover, 
And the pleasures they bring. 

Oh! Back to the skies so lovely. 
With floating clouds of white; 

Back to the scenes of other days, 
Rare pleasures of keen delight. 

Back to the waters so rippling, 

With pebbled, moss grown shore; 

Oh! back to the scenes of childhood. 
Sweet pleasures of long ago. 

Back to the old family graveyard. 
With its stones of purest white; 

Where as a child I sat and dreamed 
Far into the mystic night. 

Oh! back to the tall growing cedars. 
With their little balls of blue, 

Where we called the birds at early morn 
And reveled in nature true. 




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83 

Oh! back to the moss grown hillside 
Which led to the crystal stream, 

Where we sat and dreamed again and again 
That beautiful long, sweet dream. 

That life was naught but beauty, 

That the heart knew naught but joy; 

That on and on we would sail her seas 
With not a wreck for alloy. 

'Tis sweet to dream those dreams 
Though false they may ever be, 

They are like an oasis yet afar 
Or a crystal drink at sea. 



84 



"pla^ of t^d $l)a6ow5 



Oh! I love when the day is over, 

And the whid from the South Ioav 

To musingly sit in the twilight. 

Watch the shadows come and go. 

I love to watch them hurrying on, 

O'er the diamond crested grass, — 

And wonder, as each one goes its way, 
If it will not be the last. 

I love to muse on their silence deep, — - 
Broken by never a sound, — 

In perfect, rythmic, poetic grace. 
They silently move o'er ground. 

Up the walls and through the ivy, 

They play in silent glee, 
Flirting with the merry moonbeams, 

Which shine with brilliancy. 

Up the trees and through the leaves, 

Quietly do they play; 
In their weird, mystic fashion, 

'Til kissed by the day away. 

Oh! beautiful, lovely shadows. 
So soothing is your play, — 

That my heart goes out in longing- 
Yea, begs of you to stay. 



85 



Oh! beautiful, lovely shadows, 
So soothing is your stay. 

The brain grows quiet, heart resigned, 
In watching your mystic play. 

Oh! then stay with your silent beauty. 
Stay with your mystic charm ; — 

You hold my heart in perfect trust. 
With a love that is a balm. 



Peace, peace, dear, sweet peace! 

Let your mantle fall 
Upon the City of Clarksville, 

For dear, we love you all. 

Your rocks and rills, meadows green. 
Your skies of deepest blue ; 

Your waters, many, rolling on; 
Your landscape's varied hue; 

Your trees, tall, great and strong; 

Your hills, rock-bound and high, 
Which soar and soar in height, 

'Till they almost kiss the sky. 

Your people kind, good and true; 

Your churches, broad and tall; 
All these, we love, so very much, — 

Dear Clarksville, one and all. 



86 



o!)e 016 Vt^allonla School 'Sfcusfe 



How I love that dear old school house, 
Right on the big road, you know; 

Which led from my old country home, 
To the town Wallonia below. 

I love those old big, open windows, 

Oh! so many on the side; 
Where we sat and conned our lessons. 

In those days of girlhood tide. 

I love those tall, big forest trees. 

That formed such a sweet background, 
In which the lovely flow^ers, wild, 

And the grapevine swing were found. 

How I love the brown and red leaves. 
That on those trees did play; 

Beautiful, lovely, russet leaves, 
Of school-days, — far away. 

I love the soft v/inds that played. 
About the school-room long. 

Carrying naught upon their breast, 
But melody's sweet song. 

I love the odor from the fields, 

Of crisp, fresh, new-mown hay; 

I lay aside all work and care, 
Inhale its fragrance aye. 




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87 



I lo\-e the memory of those girls, — 
My playmates there, you know, — 

Many of whom are still living — 
Others have crossed the shore 

Of Death's cold, silent River, — 

Away from the day's bright sun, — 

Their duty on earth ended. 

Their hopes of Heaven won. 

There were Lelah and Edd and Montie, 
Huel and 'Hontas, you know; — 

And oh! there are so many others, 
Still held in memory's store. 

Each of whom has played her part 
In my life's thoughts, you know; 

Each of whom will play her part 
'Till time shall be no more. 

"No let the eagle change his plume, 

The leaf its hue, the flower its bloom; 

But ties around my heart were spun, 

That could not, would not. be undone. 

So as the years go rolling on. 

The days continue to play;— 
That dear old school-house, with its girls, 

In mem'ry. will live for aye. 



Husl a 'Xinit Wkii^ :aosebu6 



Oh ! just a little white rosebud, 
Plucked in earliest Spring; 

But to a Mother's loving heart, 
It doth such memories bring. 

Of him, who was her own first born, 
Of him, who was her pride; 

Taken so early in the race, 

With naught on earth beside. 

Who could ever fill his place 
In that Mother's heart; — 

All the world might lay its love, 
But none could take his part. 

Across the yard he lies in sleep. 

Grave, tended with loving care; 

And all the day and all the night, 
She feels that he is near. 

When the sun has hid his face, then 
Stars and moon come out to see — 

That through all the lone, silent night, 
Harm shall never come to Dee. 

And when the sun doth shine by day, — 
And the beams commence to play; 

That little grave-yard is the place — 
They seem to love best to stay. 



89 

And when the flowers are blooming, 

There they bloom with sweetest grace, 

Because it is the hallowed ground 
Of Dee's final resting place. 

(TlarKsvUU tJttlUtla 



A regiment of brave soldiers. 

In strictest battle array, 
Ever appeals to the heart of man, — 

Be it home, or far away. 

We quietly muse on the brave hearts 
Beneath those uniforms bright; 

Look and admire the gleam of courage, — 
Flashes from the heart's true light. 

Oh! brave array of Clarksville men. 

Ready at a moment's call; 
To shoulder the musket, march away. 

Be the duty, great or small. 

As the tramp, tramp, of the march is heard, 
The gleam from bayonets bright; — 

We turn and look with feelings of pride, 
'Til the "boys" recede from sight. 

Ah! yes, your mission in life is great. 
Your days ever fraught with toil ; 

Life in danger of breakers ahead. 

Your blood to shed for your soil. 



90 
"pla^ of 1^2 Moonbeams In Tt\n 016 C^urcl) 



They loiter around the chancel. 

They leap and skip the floor; 
They rapidly ascend the wall. 

Across the ceiling go; 
They gently caress the A.itar. 

Play hide and seek o'er floor, 
Make a violent, mad dash, with 

Each other for the door. 

They inspect the threadbare carpet, 

Then dance in ecstacy, 
They swing each other round and round, 

Then jig in greatest glee; 
Then they will rest a little while 

Upon the old worn seat; 
Then more rapidly glide along 

To other pews more neat. 

They will go dow^n into the Font, 

Baptize with solemnity, 
Come up laughing, wildly dancing, 

In their weird revelry. 
They will sit at the Lord's table, 

Partake of bread and wine, 
Bow their heads in deep contrition, — - 

Reverent to things Divine. 

Then, before you can turn about. 

They have w^heeled and fl.ed, — 
On and on, wdth quickest speed. 




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91 



To queerest freaks ahead; 
Tumbling, jumping, dancing, posing, 

Running, at break-neck speed, — 
Over carpet, ceiling and floor, 

As if in sudden need. 

Never still and never certain, 

Ever at mystic play, — 
Is the habit of the moonbeams. 

In that old church, far away. 
All through the long, dull, lonesome night, 

There, watch them, — if you will, — 
Enter slowly, softly, slyly. 

Then commence their nightly drill. 

They keep this up until the stars, — 

Tired out, commence to flee; 
The moonbeams then reluctantly, 

Give up their revelry; 
They hie away to some lone dell. 

And rest themselves, all day. 
And when the sun has hid his face, 

Again are out for play. 

Oh! moonbeams sacrilegious! 

Ixloonbeams of power, charm ! 
How long this desecration? 

How long this blissful harm? 
How long this mystic revelry, 

All through the silent night? 
Oh! moonbeams, would you never tire. 

If the sun sent not his light? 



92 



'Just so long as stands this Church, 

We will have our play; 
All through the long, silent hours, 

Until the break of day; 
Then we will silently retreat, — 

Make way for the sunbeams gay. 
Who will come and make as merry. 

All through the sutnmer's day. 

Though old, and worn, and forsaken, — ■ 

Deserted all by man. 
We, the moonbeams and the sunbeams. 

Neglect not, the Lord's commands: 
To shine by day, and shine by night. 

O'er all the land and sea; 
Slighting nothing in this world, — 

Not e'en this old Church, you see." 



i)alnt? ^al6en$ 



Dainty maidens, sweet and fair, 
With rosy cheeks and curly hair; 
Dainty maidens with eyes so bright, 
Sweet reflection of souls, pure, white. 

Sweetest gifts from God above. 
Make me worthy of your love; 
Let your sweet and childlike joys, 
Find in me no earth's alloys. 



93 



Let me enter into your sport, 
Without a cord or saddened note, 
That would mar your joys so sweet,— 
Sweet roseate Hfe at your feet, 

May you always take the path 
That leads you to a flowered lane; 
And may the birds that sing for you, 
Warble never a note of pain. 

May the waters smoothly glide 
Along a green and wooded shore; 
And may your barks as safely ride, 
As the sirens of mystic lore. 

May the winds kindly pass you. 
With a sweet soft caress; 
May the hurricane never meet you. 
In its wild and fierce unrest. 

May the meadows and green hills, — 
And all else there is in life, 
Lend aid to you, sweet children. 
In meeting life's ills and strife 



94 



Orlbute to Forbes' t^lvouac 



Oh! a remnant of brave soldier boys, 
Who went to battle, you know; 

With hearts so brave, and spirits so high, 
In that long, long time, ago. 

Oh! it makes my being throb with pride, — ■ 
How my heart with em.otion joys; 

When I think of the courage, vim, dash, 
Of those home-loving Southern boys. 

They shouldered their arms, — then away, 

To martial music, long ago; 
To encotmter the hostile "Blue Coats" 

Who were fast crowding to our door. 

They fought with courage and vengeance, — 

Yes, a courage all their own; 
For their rights, — which were God-given then. 

Their pi^operty and their home. 

It was number, not valor, that won. 

In that fierce conflict of war; 
Had it not been so, our own South-Land 

Would now wear the "Victor's Star." 

For in all the annals of history, — 
Yea, in all the records of life, — 

Never lived braver or stronger hearts 

Than the South-Land gave in that strife. 





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95 



These remnants are scattered broadcast, 

(O'er all the world today;) 
Of those Southern patriotic sons, 

Who fought in that distant day. 

And wherever you find them, 

(For their deeds great and sublime, — ) 
Be it East, North, South or West, — 

Or here in our Middle Clime, — 

They are called those "precious jewels," 
Those "tried treasures" of the past; — 

Which, for their deeds, will hold all hearts, 
As long as life's thoughts shall last. 



(TlarksvlUe ^an6 



'Tis sweet when the day is over. 

And the wind from the South, low, 

To idly sit in the twilight. 

And list to the bands soft blow. 

Sometimes loud, then soft, are the notes. 
Which are wafted on the breeze, 

I tremble lest some wanton noise. 
Shall discord harmonj-^'s keys. 

I tremble lest some Vv^ildwood bird. 
Sheltered in a neighbor's tree. 

Will jealous grow of strains so sweet. 
Then commence his evening's glee. 



96 



I tremble lest some cricket hid 

In rock's recess, or leaf's fold, 

Impatient grow of pent-up song; 

Commence his tale, oft-times told. 

I tremble lest some lonely bird, 

So forsaken by her mate, 
Will cry aloud in deepest grief, 

Agony, to try to sate. 

I tremble lest some stray, swift breeze. 
Hurried on by missions sweet. 

Will steal some notes and away go. 
Lay them at another's feet. 

Oh, Music! potent is your spell; 

So powerful is your charm, — 
That if the world had more of you 

The world would have less of harm. 

The savage his wild deeds will cease. 
The lion will leave his prey. 

When the blast of the trumpet is heard, 
Or the strains of the harp have sway. 

Then let the air with music ring. 

The world with sweet music sound; 

Take up the strains, oh! hills and vale, 
Over all the world around. 



97 



^^ J^atber 



Come sit by my side, Mother, darling, 
And tell me your story again, — 

Of my Father, who went to battle, 

The rights of his country to claim. 

You say he was so young and handsome. 
Of spirit so bonny and bright . 

Oh, Mother! I think I can see him. 

Feel the glance of his eye, so bright. 

I think I can now see him mounting 

His black steed, so restive and strong; 

Then tell me the story, sweet Mother, 
It won't take you now very long. 

And I will sit just here by your side. 
In the doorway, close at your feet; 

While you will go down memory's hall. 
For your story, so sad and sweet. 

"He was handsome and brave, and manly, — 
And knew not the meaning of fear; — 
He left me a young wife of twenty. 

With heartache and eyes dim with tear. 

He went forth, so manly and handsome. 
With spirit so bonny and bright, — 

While I, fell on my knees in anguish, 

And cried out: — 'Oh, God! is it right.' 



One little girl, sweet baby Lulah, — 

God had our union, sweetly blest;— 

And a home, so happy and lovely, — 
My child, shall I tell you the rest. 

He came back again, oh! yes, 'tis true; 

But never bright, joyous, and gay;- 
He lived but a few weeks, to suffer, — 

And then God called him away. 

Away from the smoke of battle ; 

Away from the strife of life; 
Away from a home, once happy,— 

Away from me, his own wife. 

Away from the baby, God-given, 

Away from parents, aged and gray; 

Away from all, who so loved him, — 
And we, so bereft, had to stay. 

Yes, stay and wait for the Master 
To call us, at His own will; 

With not a rainbow in the sky. 
Nor even a peaceful rill. 

To hold us to this changed earth ; 

To calm the heart's heavy pain; 
Until the time, God speed the day. 

When we two shall meet again," 




John Samuel Wall. 
"My Father" (See page 97) 



99 



tribute to (TlarKsville ^ar of tons ^go 



There are such beautiful legends 
Told of those statesmen, you know, — 
Who lived, loved and wielded justice, — 
In the long, long time, ago. 

There w^ere Henry, and Bailey, and Rice, 
And Boyd, and Johnson, and King, 

And Ouarles, and Burney, and "West, — 
Whose memory and fame still ring. 

Dead, are they now, and their bodies 
Mingled with Mother Earth's clay; 

But their deeds and brilliant sayings, 
Will forever round us play. 

Even the birds on the hillside 

In their brilUant coats of red, 

Jump from limb and twitter softly, 
Deference to heroes dead. 

Yea, the green hills and the woodlands, 
And the waters in their play, 

All speak gently, softly, sweetly. 
Of those heroes to this day. 



100 

And the stars in dazzling glory, 
And the moon in mystic light, 

Pay their tributes, — silent splendor, 
With their scintillations bright; 

To those graves of such tender care, 
To those bodies, low in sod; 

To those spirits now in Heaven, — 

Just with man, at peace with God. 



tribute to (TlarKsvllle ^ar of Z3o- £>a^ 



Oh! brilliant, learned, body! 

Oh, noble array of men! 
Your virtues, great and many, 

Are beyond the writer's pen. 

But I came not to sing of glory. 

Nor of deeds, great and sublime; 

For those things are ever out of place 
In a sweet verse song of rhyme. 

I came to sing of deep, subtle fires. 
That e'er on their altar burn; 

For the men who constitute the Bar, 
And with pride to them, we turn. 

I came to sing of a tender cord, 

That around our hearts doth play, 

Whenever mention is made of you: — 
"The Clarksville Bar of To-day." 



1(11 

There are reasons, so sweet and subtle, 
That will go wnth me through life, 

This feeling of deepest reverence. 
Yea, I was a lawyer's wife. 

Oh ! it may be a woman's fancy, 

A sentiment of the heart's den, 

That nowhere under the living sun, 
Is found such a body of men. 

But whatever the world may call it, 
The heart will still have its say: — 

There's no body of men in the world, 
Like the Clarksville Bar of To-day. 



X5\)6, (Tljrlstlan <L\)nvc\:) 



Oh! dear little Church on the Corner, 
With your walls of dull brick red, 

And your long, slanting, black, tin roof, 
And happy sparrows o'er-head. 

Which twitter, and chirp, and twitter, 
All through the summer's day, — 

Ever commanding the notice 
Of the passer on his way. 

To this dear little Christian Church, — 
Right on the electric line, — 

Where the members assemble weekly. 
To break bread and take wine. 



102 

In memory of Him who suffered, 
Likewise died upon the cross, 

That we, through His beloved blood, 
In Eternity, — not be lost. 

Oh! emblems so dear and so sacred, — 

Of our Father, — don't you see? 
Who gave His blood for every one, — 

Yes, all, — even you and me. 
He said, as often as ye do this, 

'Tis in remembrance of me, — 
Who suffered, and bled, and died, — 

That you from sin, be free. 

Oh! sacred and tenderest thoughts. 

Around this Church will e'er twine, — 
Like the ivy clings the sturdy oak, — 

In the fierce mid-winter clime; 
And heart fires so warm and bright 

Will e'er on their altar burn,- — 
For the members of the Christian Church, 

Wherever our feet may turn. 




Confederate Monument, Greenwood Cemetery 



103 



^b^n "^z ~pia'2zb '^tounb 'Thunt yttanbfs 1!>cot 



Dear old Aunt Mandy, good, tried, and true, — 

Often through the day, my thoughts turn to you, — 

And I wonder if you e'er think of me, — - 
With a heart full of love, as I, of thee? 

Oh! yes, I know you do, — for am I not your child, 

Just as I was in that long ago while, — 
Wlien we played at your feet, 'round the kitchen door, 
i\nd you told us all such excellent lore: 

About Abraham and Isaac, — all those good men, 

Of which you knew so much; — we, so little then; 

And Moses and the prophets, all so, "mighty, good" — 

You would say: — "Now children, you could, if you 
would, 

Be just as good as they, as you go along through life. 
Leaving off your bad deeds, temper, and strife; 

Putting on your new clothes, all v/ashed white of sin," — 
Then we'd sing some good song, just to "begin." 

Oh! Aunt Mandy, I sometimes wonder, if there e'er 
Was, in all the Vv'orld, a place half so fair. 

As that old country homestead, beautiful to me, 
With tall, growing maples, birds, dear to see. 



104 

Its fields of green grain and corn, tall red clover, too, 
Where we went like troopers, when it was wet with 
dew; 

Looking for the butter-flies, of every hue, 

Which, just like we children, loved the clover too. 

Its long, green, grassy lawn, so beautifully neat, 

There Grandpa kept his horse, emergencies to Meet; 

And Grandma turned the goslings, when the sun was warm, 
For in the back yard the chickens did them such harm. 

Oh! those dear little goslings of the long time ago. 
Beautiful to me as the daffodils' glow; — 

How sweet they do look, in my memory, fresh and green. 
Running hei^e and there like the brightest simbeam. 

Affectionate too, they would nestle at our feet, 

Look up into our faces, with eyes that would speak; 

They would ta.k and chatter, as best they could, you know, 
And vie with us children, for a place at your door. 

Aunt Mandy! you remember the big fish pond, 

Down by the mulberry tree, 
Where we children would sit and fish all the day, 

But never a fish would see? 

And you remember the old winding creek, 

Galore with wild flowers in Spring, — 
Where Grandma would take us every day, — 

And oh! such arms-full we would bring? 

Back to the house, with hearts all ajoy, 
We children would sit in the shade, 



105 

Weave them into garlands, fresh and fair, 
And then in the graveyard we laid. 

Them on the grave of my Father, dear, ne'er forgotten 
for a day, 
Though we never felt that he was dead, nor even far 
away ; 
We felt that he was an angel good, guarding by night and day. 
And though in the tomb, his body lay, his spirit saw 
us play. 

You remember, too, the big pear tree, that stood by the 
back door. 
With blossoms so beautifully white, and fruit we did 
adore? 
You remember the "Balm of Gilead" tree that grew big 
and tall, 
And made such a deep, spreading shade for us children, 
one and all? 

Then you remember the Catalpa tree, with blossoms glori- 
ously white. 
And how we gathered the cups that fell, with wonder 
and great delight? 
And you remember the little graveyard at the foot of the 
long lawn, you know. 
Where we buried the chickens and turkeys, and wept 
with childish woe? 

And how often we would visit those graves. 

With manners demure and calm, — 
Carry wild flowers and sweet apple blooms, 

Red blossoms from "Gilead Balm." 



106 



We would sing songs, offer prayers, 

For those dead playmates, you know; 

Then we'd silently go away, 

With hearts less bowed with woe. 

You remember the old flower garden. 

Between the yard and graveyard green,- 

Where grew the flowers we all so loved, 
In bright robes of every sheen? 

Ah! from the tall, Vv'hite, scented lilies, 

To the roses, sweet and rare. 
Grew the glorious, lovely flowers, 

In that garden, all so fair. 

From the gorgeous Wisteria, 

To the honeysuckle, sweet; 
Climbed the vines, and spread the creepers, 

In that garden, always neat. 

From the white pinks, in profusion, 

To the daffodils bright glow; 
Grew the flowers, v\^e all loved, 

In that garden, long ago. 

From the tall, big, red peony, to 

The violets' blue hue; — 
Grew the loveliest, sweetest flowers, 

That my life ever knew. 

From the tall, purple lilacs, 

To the old mock-orange tree; 

Vied all, with one another, 

In their sweetness, don't you see? 




u 



107 



Aunt Mandy, I could talk forever and aye, 
About that old home, so far away: — 

Oh! because you loved it, and so did I, — 
That is the reason, the only why. 

You loved the clouds that swept the sky, 
The silent moon that soared on high; 

And the vines and creepers that twined, 
'Round that home, — memory divined. 

You too, loved the dove's mournful coo, 

Away in the misty distance, blue; 
And the whipporwill's sad, lonely call. 

From, his home, the cedars, by the wall. 

You loved the murmur of the winding creek. 
As it flowed along through banks so steep ; 

And all the wild flowers, that there did grow. 
On that old winding creek, summers ago. 

And you loved the birds of every hue, 

That twittered and chirped all the day through. 
In the maples and cedars about our door, — 

Oh! Aunt Mandy, were I to roam the world o'er, 

I could never find a place half so sweet, 

As that old home, in which we did meet, 

Nothing but tenderness, love and care — 
Precious jewels in this world, rich, rare. 

And somehow it seems when I look into your face. 
That all of the others are there in their place,— 

We are all again in our old Kentucky home, 

The chain not broken, the heart not so alone. 



108 

That the flowers in the garden are blooming fair, 

That the oclor from the pear-tree is rich, rare, — • 

That the peachblooms and appleblooms are all so sweet, 
Yea, are scenting the air with odors, a treat. 

That the water from the creek is so near, 

Its rythmic flow is heard on the ear; 
That the grass is green, the air moist with dew, 

The flowers, bright with every hue. 

That Grandpa and Grandma are somewhere near, 

Mama and sister, we softly hear; — 
The air is hushed with a mystic spell, — 

A delightful something, — -I can't tell. 

Oh! just a stray sunbeam from that other time, — 
Sent to gladden and make our hearts chime, 

With thoughts of that other time, oh! long ago, 
When we played around Aunt Mandy's door. 

4 



Olje ^ew Christian (Tburcl) 



The towers and minarets will soar to the sky, 
The walls stand out broad and clear, 
The windows and portals, emblazon the words: — 
' 'Peace on earth, Good will to cheer." 

The church bells will ring, the choir will sing, 

The people will come in a throng 

To hear God's word fall from lips we all love, 

And to see — what the good women of Clarksville ha^. e done. 



109 

The stars in their glory will twinkle the story, 
And point with scintillations bright, 
To turreted domes, and hea\-en-reaching spires, — 
Oh I what the good women of Clarksville have'done. 

The sunbeams will steal quietly in. 

And gliding from ceiling to floor, 

Will caress every change from old to new, 

And fill the auditorium with warmth and glow, — 

Oh! Vv'hat the good women of Clarksville have done. 

The moonbeams will dance and play hide and seek, 
Over carpeted aisles, and soft cushioned seats, — 
They will kneel at the altar, bow at the shrine. 
Midnight- watch keep over all things divine, — 
Oh ! what the good women of Clarksville have done. 

The wind in its fury will madly rush by. 

The rain will come pouring down, — 

But each in his turn will give a kiss and a sigh 

To what the good women of Clarksville have done. 

The swallows will leap from limb to limb, 

And hover neath the sheltering eaves. 

And compel you to note, in language their own, — 

What the good women of Clarks\-ille have done. 

The Angels will stand just across the line, 

And point with hearts full of pride. 

To this beautiful Church built for Humanity's sake, 

And for our Lord Jesus Christ, — who died. 



110 



^JlecltaUoRS b? tilth pattio. l^ilt 



Tfow a ClUU (Blrl ^aU ^JttoncY 



(recitation.) 



I am not a grown-up woman, 
As you evidently see; 
I am just a little five-year-old, 
But as willing as can be. 

I have such tiny hands, 

But a head full of sense. 

So I thought I'd exercise my brain, 
To make one hundred cents. 

I did not tell a soul, 

I did it on the sly, 
If I succeeded, all was well, 

If I failed, I might cry. 

I sought my mamma's garden, 
To find the roses dear, 

I sold them by the handsful, — 
I've just a quarter here. 



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They wouldn't give me nickles nor dimes, 

Nor quarters, nor fifty cents, 
They thought because I was little, 

Pennies were all that went. 

Well, I'll be grown some day. 

And I'll make money, too: 
I will spend it for the "Master's Cause," 

Just like good people do. 

I'll be a great big worker, 

I'll be no drone in hive, 
I'll let all the world know 

That Patty Pitt is aUve. 

I'll build churches, tall and great, 

I'll buy green grassy lots. 
And let me tell you something, 

I'll help the little tots. 

When they come to me with flowers, 

And tell me what they want, 
I'll untie my purse strings. 

And roll the dollars out. 

I'll make them feel so good and great. 

So pleased with self and man, 
They will go away shouting: 

"Hosanna to the King, Glory to the Lamb!" 



112 
Ifflstorlcal "IDoUar — One ^ear 3fcnce 



(recitation by little PATTIE PITT.) 



Ah! well do I remember, 
Not over a year ago, 
I stood upon this platform 

- And from my lips did flow : — - 

The awfullest, naughtiest language, 

Because I had tried with all my might 

To make one great big dollar. 

And had been baffled in the fight. 

I had tried the aesthetic plan, — 

Selling flowers, don't you know, — 

Appealing to the better part of man, — 

There isn't any, — I am here to tell you so. 

They thought because I was little. 

And it was a Church affair, 
They would do the real thing 

And secure a seat "Up There." 

So they showered me with pennies, — 

Pennies, just everywhere, — 
The like of pennies, I never did see 

On earth, or anywhere. 

But when the counting time came 'round. 

Imagine- my great dismay, 
When face to face with real facts, 

A quarter was all I could display. 



113 



So I lieard about this party, 

And I devised another plan, — 

Something whispered in my ear: — 

"Pattie, try the stomach of man." 

So I tied my bonnet tmder my chin, 
On my arm, my basket hung, — 

To the salad patch I bent my way. 
Over the garden gate I sprung. 

I picked and pulled, and pulled and picked 
'Till my basket would hold no more ; 

Through the backyard gate I rapidly passed, 
Down Union street I tore. 

I neither headed to the right nor left, 

Never swerved with my weighty load ; 

Remembering the diamond way to success,— 
Was to keep in the middle of the road. 

I walked into a down-town store. 

Feeling mighty great and grand, — 

I made a courtsey most profound, — 

Then took a business, upright stand. 

Mister, will you please examine my stock, — 
You will find it "mighty fine," — 

And the consideration for this basketful, 
Will be only a nickle or a dime. 

The stems are long, the leaves are broad, 
Most tender, — don't you see? — 

And if cooked with a little bacon grease, 
It will be excellent for thee. 



114 

The blood will course through your veins, — 
Even to the roots of your hair, — 

And I wouldn't be at all surprised, 

If it caused a new growth up there. 

I waxed very bold and eloqu.ent, 

As I progressed, — you see, — 
You couldn't have possibly told 

Whether it was Demostlienes or Pattie P. 

A merry twinkle came in his eye, 
On his face, a smile so bland, — 

A dip was made in his trousers' pocket, 
A dollar was in his hand. 

I was so greatly overcome, 

So scared at my success, — 
How I lived to tell the tale — 

Is a mystery I'm still in quest. 

But listen to my story, — 

It isn't very long, — 
If you want to make money, 

Never try poetry nor good song. 

But gather a little salad, 

Or any garden stuff, — 
For the way to reach the pocket-book, 

Is through the stoinach, — sure enough. 




u 



115 



(This poem was recited by Little Pattie Pitt before 
the great mass-meeting at the Opera House on Monday, 
evening, February 25, 1907, and made a profound impres- 
sion.) 



"Does it ruin, or does it pay 
To have whiskey with us stay?" 
Is the question asked each day. 
By rich and poor, young and gray. 

A few plain questions let me ask. 
And you will surely see 
That whiskey should go at one fell dash, 
And for all eternity. 

Does it ruin, or does it pay 

To leave one's home and go astray? 

Does it ruin, or does it pay 

To break some fond heart, day by day? 

Does it ruin, or does it pay 

To throw one's earnings all away? 

Does it ruin, or does it pay 

To friends disgrace, and friends dismay? 

Does it ruin, or does it pay 

To aspire to Heaven and lose one's way? 
Does it ruin, or does it pay 

To lose one's soul, for aye and aye? 



IIG 

All this whiskey does, — and more, — 
As the world's sad records show; 

Shall we have it in our midst ? 

Christianity cries out: — "No." 

Sons and daughetrs, fall in line, 

With armor strong and bright — 

Meet the enemy face to face — 
Do battle for the right! 

Fathers and mothers, — now it's your time 
To strike with all your might — 

For temperate sons and happy homes, 
In a glorious war for right. 

Let the flag of temperance wave 

Over Cumberland's proud shore; 

Let peace and plenty reign within. 

Where the wolf stood guard before. 

Let wives and mothers be blithe and gay, 
Little children be clothed and fed; 

The ''Sanctity of Home" preserved — 
The "Demon Drink" — be dead. 

And now let's bow our heads. 

And offer the sweetest prayer 

For the saloon men in Clarksville today, — ' 
For the saloon men, everywhere: 

Our Father! who art in Heaven: 

If it be within thy powder. 
Change the hearts of all whiskey men. 

From today's happy hour; 



117 



I^.Iay their eyes be opened, 

And their hearts be softened, too; 
May they take a brave stand 

By the "White Ribbon," good and true. 

And when Tuesday's sun 

Shall have kissed us all goodnight, 
May the Angels whisper softly: — 

Clarksville has gone— "All Right." 



JraTdwi^il to ^rOil)er Cave 



(Recited by Little Pattie Pitt at the Christian Churoh, 
January 7, 1906, on the occasion of Bro. Cave's leaving.) 



And so, Brother Cave is going away, 

And frustrate all our cherished plans; 

Isn't it a shame, don't you say 

To leave us prostrate on the sands? 

Better take Pattie Pitt's advice. 
Though borrowed it may be ; 

And bear the ills he has right now, 

Than fly to others, he does not see. 

For in the West are great big Indians, 
Buffaloes, and monstrous bears. 

Enough to scare one most to death, 

And they always take you unawares. 



118 



Suppose we tell him this, what you say? 

Don't you think he would probably stay 
Right here in Clarksville, where v;e love him so, 

And where he's so welcome at every door? 

Where grown people help him all they can, 
To carry out his great Salvation plan; 

And where little folks never offer a prayer. 

That his good name is not mentioned there. 

Should he not listen, but go his way, 
Then Father, this is what we pray — - 
"Lift high! Thine all-protecting arm, 
Guard him, and his, safe from all harm. 

"When in a far and distant clime, 
Where roses bloom and the grape is wine, 
May he, sometimes kneel and pray 
For the 'Little Band' he leaves this day. 

"And when life's fitful dream is o'er 
And we've all passed to yon bright shore. 
May no missing link be found — 
An unbroken chain, our crown. 

"May we radient and happy stand. 

In that beautiful Christland, 

And point to Brother Cave where'er he stands, 

As the leader of Clarksville's Christian band." 




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119 



Oo t^e 3iln3*5 i>aus'0tcrs. 



(recitation by little PATTIE PITT." 



Here is to the health of the King's Daughters, — 

That noble, united band; 
Organized in 1886 by Mary Barton, 

With a charter membership of only ten. 

Now grown from an acorn small. 

Planted in rich, fertile ground, — ■ 

To a sturdy oak, with branches wide, 
Shading the whole world round. 

Here is to the health of the King's Daughters, — 
In the "Seven Hilled City" of song, — 

And here is to the health of Mrs. Cross, 
Who valiantly leads this throng. 

And here is to the health of the Daughters brave, 

Who rally around her, strong, — - 
Each giving her time and purse and aid, 

For Humanity's suffering throng. 

They visit the homes of the sick and poor, — 
They minister to pain and distress; 

They go even farther, and hold out a hand, 

To the fallen, the depraved, the oppressed. 



120 

They tell of a way, — a better way, — 

Leading from darkness to light ; 
They tell of Jesus and His wonderful love, 

Until the soul cries out with delight. 

They tell of a home, — a beautiful home, 

A mansion above the skies. 
Where all things are righted, — all things redressed 

For the soul who strives, who tries. 

And now let's bow our heads, 

And offer the sweetest prayer, 
For the King's Daughters, here, today. 

For the King's Daughters, everywhere. 

Our Father! Who art in Heaven, 

If it be within Thy power, 
Let this meeting be fraught with good, 

From today's happy hour. 

May its members grow manifold. 

May its influence be stronger lent; 

May the good, done this year. 

Outweigh all the years spent. 

May each and every King's Daughter, 

In that future life to be. 
Wear a crown of richest beauty, 

Set with gems of Charity. 

And may Heaven's richest blessings. 

Rest upon this little band, — 
King's Daughters, visiting friends, — 

My earnest prayer. — Amen 



121 



Cl)ll5rens' J!>ay: !J\<icltatlon 



(recitation by little PATTIE PITT.) 



So this is Children's day, 
I think, I heard them say; — 
Well, as it comes but once a year, 
There will be a lot to hear. 

I want to tell of our Father, 
The Holy, Sainted One; 
I want to tell of his love for you, 
For me, for every one. 

He gave the beautiful deep, blue sky. 
The sun, that shines by day. 
The silver moon, the twinkling stars, 
That guide by night our way; 

The crystal waters that by us flow. 
The star-eyed daisies that about us grow. 
The radiant poppies, that smile and nod, 
The green, soft grass, we call the sod; 

The little birdies that twitter and sing. 
The pattering raindrops in early Spring, 
The sunshine that falls with a halo of light, 
Filling the world with all that is bright. 



122 



He gave us Mrs. Stratton, to train our rninds, 
And dear Brother Rowlison, for things Divine, 
He gave us Miss Minor, in the same sweet way, 
To make this Sunday an interesting Children's day, 

He gave us His Son, the crucified Christ, 

That we, through His blood, might have eternal life; 

He gave us a mansion above the blue skies, 

Where all things are beautiful, and the soul never dies. 

He gives peace, immortality, and rest. 

To each of us, all of us, — who will do his best. 



I3l)e (Tlvic ^<in6 



(recitation by little PATTiE PITT.) 



We are all a merry Civic Band, 

By our leader, Mrs. Hodgson, we proudly stand. 

We number in all, just thirty-three. 

And the things we'll do, you will, in future see. 

The homes of Clarksville will be so nice. 

There will be nothing left for rats or mice, 

They will have to cross the river to near Southside, 

And there in future, they will have to abide. 

For if they stay in town, they will meet with such strife, 
They will all get a scare that will last them a life. 



123 

For cellars ^vill be rummaged, attics ransacked, — 
Everything not wanted, will be burned in a stack. 

The alleys in our city will be so free from trash. 

That the dogs will ask in dismay: "What's become of 

bones and hash?" — 
So they will either starve out, or seek another clime, — 
Thus two evils averted, — rats and pestiferous canines. 

The paper on the street won't go whirling about, 
Causing horses to scare, and bad boys to shout; 
The banana peelings on the sidewalk won't be there, 
For people to tiimble down, — heels up in air. 

The lettuce and spinach in our gardens will grow. 

So That the market woman and her wares will have to go' 

The peas and beans v.'ill grow^ so tall, 

That the downtown stuff we won't have at all. 

By the cottage gate will grow a rose, 
By the wall a beautiful vine, 
The daisies will peep at you everywhere, 
And the poppies — Oh! how they will shine. 

The sunflowers will rear their tall proud heads, 
As if to reach and kiss the sky; 
They will smile and bow at the morning sun, 
And welcome the passerby. 

Our yards will wear a mantle of green, 

So soft and smooth and neat, 

That the children will prefer the joys of home, 

To the sports of the rough bare street. 



124 



From this beautiful life within, 

And this improved life without, 

We will all be better, and purer, by far, — 

So three long cheers, for the Civic Band shout. 

Long may its influence be felt 
Over Clarksville's homes and streets, 
Long may our leader with us stay, 
For guidance to youthful feet. 



125 
TEaster Song 

(recitation by little PATTIE PITT.) 



.Christ is risen, the birdies sing,— 
As they flit from Hmb to limb ; 
Christ is risen, the waters say, — 
As they glide and leap and play. 

Christ is risen, the zephyrs sigh, — 
As they gently pass you by; 
Christ is risen, the flowers nod, — 
As they peep from 'neath the sod. 

Christ is risen, the sunbeams say, — 
As they, through the leaflets play; 
Christ is risen, the dewdrops call, — ■ 
As they vanish, one and all. 

Christ is risen, the church bells ring, — 
And the angels in Heaven sing: — 
"Christ is risen. Oh! hosts on high. 
Shout the tidings from earth to sky! 

He is risen, oh! blessed He, 
Whose blood was shed for you, for me; 
Whose body was nailed to the cross, — 
That we, through Him, might not be lost. 



12G 



Then let the waters and zephyrs that play 
And let the sunbeams that dance all day, 
And let the woodlands and valleys ring 
With- — "Christ is risen, our King! our King!" 







3Q 



One copy del. to Cat. Div. 



f£B 21 I'ylO 



BHAF, of f^r r. 



